


John H. Watson and the Last Train out of Kabul

by a_xmasmurder



Series: Stories from the War Front [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU!John - Freeform, Afghanistan, Another Backstory, Armament is sexy, Children like chocolate, Drugs are bad kids, Gen, Stories from the War Front, Warzone, dvd extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So...the title has nothing to do with the story. Basically, John's telling another story to his friends. There's a moral to the story, as well. Porter sleeps through the whole thing, so I'm not counting him as a character in this one :D</p><p>Thank you to the Antidiogenes crew, again, because you all love me too much, and are much too nice to me. ((HUGS))</p>
            </blockquote>





	John H. Watson and the Last Train out of Kabul

**Author's Note:**

> I have never been in the military. I have never been to Afghanistan. I have family that are/were in the military, and I read books. 
> 
> With that said: WARNING - DEPICTION OF AN AMBUSH. DEPICTION OF WAR. DEPICTION OF SOLDIERS. 
> 
> This is basically mental military wank for me, as a break from Seven Seconds. Bear with me :D

“This FUCKING thing!” Watson kicked the tyre of the Ridgeback with as much anger, frustration, and sheer Scottish self-righteousness as he could manage, and damn near broke his big toe.

Which only made him cuss even louder.

Hammond shook his head and laughed into the engine compartment. “Sir, you should calm down.”

“Calm dow - calm DOWN?” Watson rounded on his second in command, face red with fury. “This fucking thing decides to break down in the middle of the bleeding desert, we are almost out of water, Hunter is bitching because he’s tired, and for fuck’s sake, can you at least make the air conditioning work in this ruddy thing?” He kicked the tyre again.

“Pretty sure this thing doesn’t have air conditioning, sir.”

“Well, make it have air conditioning!”

“Will it calm you down?”

Watson thought for a second, then shook his head. “Nope.”

“Well, then I’m not putting air conditioning in a bloody PPV.”

Watson plopped down on the hot dirt. “Shade. Shade would be fuckin’ book.” He stared up at the white hot Afghan sun, shielding his eyes with his gloved hand. “Could it be too much to ask for a little shade?”

A shadow passed over him. “This work, Sarge?”

“Hunter, sit your giant Scottish arse down before you fall over.” Watson peered up at his sniper. “You aren’t complaining about being tired, then flouncing around this fucking place.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not standing, you are sitting. Down.”

“I’m looking for insurgents.”

“Sitting.” Watson stabbed a stiff finger down at the ground.

Hunter huffed, and slid down the side of the invalid vehicle to sit next to Watson. “Who pissed in your Weetabix?”

“The fucking world did, Corporal, and then this happened.”

“Shit’s hot.” Hunter patted the ground. “Don’t want to sit here anymore.”

“Deal with it. Or sit in the Ridgeback and boil.”

“At least it’s shady in here.” Harper leaned out of the open door. “And I’ve got room for one more. Commander’s got it.”

“Nope. I’m staying right where I’m at because this is where I want to be buried when I die.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Right. The fuck. Here.” Watson smirked, and slid his sunglasses on. “I’m on a boat.”

“Oh my God.” Hunter dropped his head into his hands. “You have got to be kidding. Sarge’s gone loony bin.”

Everyone laughed, even McCarter, who lay on the ground with a pair of long range viewfinders. Watson leaned back against the Jackal and whined up at Hammond. “Are you done yet?”

“Does it look like I’m fucking done with this - ow, motherfucking buggering shit!” He leaped back, shaking his hand and cursing. “Fuck all of this shit, I want to go home, back to where engines don’t try to eat my fuckin’ hand, damn it all to hell and back!”

“What’d you do?” Knowles piped up from his position further down the road, his voice scratching through the communication link.

“Busted my knuckle open on something, I don’t know what the hell it was.” Hammond shoved his bleeding, dirty finger into his mouth and sucked. “And I still don’t know what went wrong with it, but she’s a dead duck.”

Watson groaned loudly. “No, don’t tell me this, I don’t want to have to inventory yet another broken piece of shit. I really don’t. They will put another note in my file that says something like “Breaks expensive equipment and then bitches about it”. Tell me you can fix this.”

Hammond shrugged, his body armor shifting on his shoulders. “I may have to call it.”

“Oh, let me have a look at it!” Harper hopped out of the Ridgeback, nearly landing on Watson, and stalked over to Hammond. “Give me your tools.”

He pointed to the engine. “Save for this,” he waved the wrench in his hand, “it’s all up there.”

“Okay.” She wedged one boot into the wheel well and levered herself up onto the fender. “Let me see.”

“You are going to let a woman look at an engine?” O’Reilly muttered.

“Are you sure you know what you are doing, there, lass? Doesn’t look like an oven to me.” Crabb snarked.

“Remember all of that the next time you have a chunk of metal sticking out of your fucking guts, guys.” Harper turned and grinned hard at Watson. “Because I’m just going to shoot you in the foot and leave you fuckers to die.”

The squad broke up into laughter again, and Watson shook his head in mirth. “You bloody tossers. Just...fix the damned thing so we can go home.”

“Oi!” A sharp whistle from further up the road got everyone’s attention, and they all went hard as stone. Watson palmed his radio control as he got to his feet. “What do you got, Crabb?”

“Incoming. Two klicks out, moving...well, it’s moving. Isn’t fast. Looks like it’s coming from the village up ahead. Not sure what it is yet, too much dust.” Crabb grunted through the com. “I’ll try to get a better picture.”

“Roger that. Keep us updated.” Watson shifted his shoulders, settling the armour better on his body. “Baker, do you hear anything?”

The young Para stared hard at the radio on the ground, his hand wrapped around the receiver. “I’ve got nothing on ICOM, sir. Airwaves are clear, save for some blokes in the RAF having a bit of fun up by Kabul.”

“I’m not worried about them. Get on the other network and listen for jabber.” The kid nodded tightly at him, and Watson turned around, staring at Harper. “Keep working on the engine, Harpy. Maybe you can get it going.”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright, get into position, boys, we’ve got a party starting up.”

********  
  
  
  
  


“So, what is it, Crabby?”

The man wasn’t much more than a hazy blur of sand coloured BDUs on a sand coloured background, even when he shifted. “Lorry.”

“A lorry.” Watson groaned. “Great, a lorry. Just what we need. Okay, spread out, we’ll just set up an impromptu roadblock here.”

“Sounds like a plan, sir.” That was Hammond.

“Get your team up further, and someone grab the spike strips, yeah?”

“Yes sir.”

Watson settled down on one knee and picked up his binoculars. He adjusted the view and pointed them at the oncoming lorry. While it was still too dusty to see much, he could just make out the size of the thing, and could see that it wasn’t a covered truck. It sort of looked like the kind you'd use to haul propane and helium tanks. He nodded once, to himself, and peered again. They did have something in the back...goats? Lots of goat herders, if they had the money, would transport their flocks by lorry nowadays, right? He grimaced and squinted. No, not goats...children. Children! He spotted a bright headdress, and shorts.

“Are you seeing what I am seeing, Crabb?”

“If you are seeing kids, then yeah, I am.”

“Good, thought the heat was getting to me for a moment.”

“You are on a boat, sir. Of course you’ve gone to lunch.”

Watson snorted. “Shut it, Hunter.” He wiped his brow. “Okay, we’ll stop them. Try not to scare the kids too bad.”

“That means Hunter and McCarter need to hide, the tall fuckers.” Hammond wiped his own forehead and smirked from across the road. Hunter, just behind Watson, flipped him the two finger salute, and he laughed.

“Alright, girls, let’s get it together.” Watson signaled to Hammond and McCarter, the two team leaders, and got to his feet as the lorry neared, slowing as the paratroopers left their cover and gathered on the road. Knowles and Crabb were on the L86s, and Watson knew Hunter and O’Reilly had his back, as the squad’s sharpshooters. McCarter stepped out with him, and Hammond rose from his position on the other side of the road. He raised his hand, his right one locked around the pistol grip of his SA80 rifle.

“ _Wadrega_! Stop!” He walked forward, his two team leaders on his flanks. The lorry rocked to a halt right in the kill box, and the driver placed his hands on the steering wheel. Watson nodded to him. ‘Good. He’s been through this before. That’s a good thing.’ He moved to the driver’s side, watching the man carefully in case he pulled a fast one on him. Hammond had the passenger covered, and McCarter covered both of them.

He pulled up flush with the window, which was rolled down already, and he smiled at the man in the seat. “Hello.” He spoke in Pashto.

“Hello,” the Afghani man parroted.

“Where are you headed?” Watson kept his voice light but firm. He took a quick glance to the rear of the lorry, where the children were huddled around a woman. Her head dress rippled in the very slight breeze, and they were silent. In that one glance, he judged the ages of the kids as between three and twelve, and there were at least seven of them, plus the woman.

“Another village.” The Afghani tapped his hand on the wheel. “I have papers.”

“Good. Can I see them? Right hand only, keep the left where I can see it.”

The man complied easily.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Watson smiled at the children, then turned the smile on the man. “What’s your name?”

“Abasin. I have been through many...checks, as you say.”

“I’m Sergeant Watson.” He took the papers as they were offered to him, and looked them over. “And yeah, you have done this before. This thing’s pretty full. Are you a taxi service?”

“You could say.”

He looked back up at the man. “Where are you from?”

The man shrugged. “I am from Kabul.”

Watson nodded as he folded the papers back up and handed them to Abasin. “Well, everything checks out. You’ll be good to go in a bit, just have to check everything in the back, make sure there’s no bombs or bad guys hanging out back there. Sound good?”

Abasin bobbed his head. “Yes, go ahead, I have nothing to hide, sir.”

Watson nodded at him again, and shot quick looks at his team leaders, then moved to the back of the lorry, where he found the woman staring at him. He smiled up at her, and stuck with Pashto. “Hello there!” He kept his right hand on the grip of the SA80, but his left one waved in the air by his head. “Do you speak English?”

The woman continued staring at him. He sighed. “Don’t be frightened, you are safe. Yes?”

She finally let go of the death grip around two of the smaller kids. The children moved towards him slowly, cautiously, and he smiled at him. “Hello. Candy? I have candy. Chocolate.” He kept smiling, and reached into his pockets to pull out the backup supply of heat-stable chocolate he always kept on him. “Here.”

The kids went a bit nuts over the candy, and he smiled up at the woman again. “Can I come up?”

She nodded, and he reached up with both gloved hands and pulled himself onto the slatted sides of the lorry, swung a leg over, and landed solidly in the bed. The kids scrambled out of his way, but gravitated towards him again as he swept his eyes over the entirety of the truck. He looked at the woman again. The only thing he could see was her eyes, and he didn’t want to offend her by staring at her clothing to attempt to see if she had a weapon hiding under the burqa.

“I have a few questions to ask you. Can I do that, or would you rather I not?”

She blinked up at him.

“Do you need a...chaperone?”

“Daddy is dead.”

Watson turned and was confronted by the oldest of the kids, a thin girl about eleven or twelve. She stared right at him, with eyes like flints.

“I’m sorry.” He winced, and looked at the woman again. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

The woman shifted, and muttered something he couldn’t hear over the chatter of the kids. He leaned forward. “Could you say that again?”

“It is okay, British man.”

He smiled at her. “My name is John. What is yours?”

“Reshtina.” Her dark eyes finally sparkled with life.

He crouched down in front of her, a respectful distance away. “Well, hello Reshtina.” He could spot each of his men spread out around him, and he felt calm. “Only a couple of questions, then you all can be on your way. Okay?”

She nodded at him again.

“First, where are you headed?” He wanted to make sure that hers and Abasin’s stories matched up.

“We are going to a different village. They have three goats that we could use, and I’m trading for them.”

John squinted. “Trading. Trading what?”

Reshtina’s eyes suddenly turned fearful, and Watson knew he had something. “Reshtina. What are you trading?” He tensed, his hand twitching to move to the butt of his pistol, but he stayed where he was.

She moved a length of tarp, and he could see the packages of... “Opium.” He sighed. “You have raw opium here, Reshtina.” There were only five wrapped packs, but he could only guess how much more there could be, or would be. He kept his eyes locked on her. “Don’t you have anything else that you could trade?”

She shook her head slowly. “Please. Do not take this away from us.”

He took a breath, and thumbed the radio control. “Hammond. Hunter. Come ‘round to the back of this lorry. I want to talk to you.” He pushed himself to his feet, and met the two soldiers at the back end. He jerked a thumb behind him, at the opium. “Guess what we’ve got?”

“Drugs.” Hunter grunted.

“Raw opium.” Watson sighed. “She’s trading around five kilos for three goats.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hammond shook his head. “Last year, five kilos could get twenty.”

“Price is going up, especially since we established the ‘burn’ policy.” Hunter put his hands on the wood slats and leaned forward. “This sucks.”

“Shit.” Hammond agreed. “So, boss, what do you think we should do? Let it go through?”

Watson stared down at his hands. “Not sure. If they are asking for opium, we could have insurgent activity, or even Taliban. Hell, even Al Qaeda, or a splinter group in the area. We...we could turn this into an advantage, really.” Watson squinted as a plan started to take form in his mind. “I’ve got an idea.”

Hunter lifted his head and smiled at him. “Ambush.”

John nodded. “Reshtina here gets her goats, the insurgents or drug dealers get their opium, and we get to bag and tag some bastards.”

Hammond smirked, his eyes dark with something dangerous. “I’m liking whatever you are thinking. I don’t care what it is. It is perfect.”

“What if it includes you stripping naked, covering yourself in honey, rolling around in the opium, and parading yourself in front of the Taliban singing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’, Hammond?”

The man slid his eyes back and forth, and stared hard at Watson. “If that’s what you need me to do, boss, then hand me the fuckin’ honey.”

Hunter and Watson snorted, and Hammond smiled. “Not the fake shit, either. The really good stuff.” They laughed even harder, and John sighed.

“Okay, we settled? Are we going to do this thing?”

Hammond nodded, and Hunter gave him a thumb up.

“Good. Hammond, get on the horn with HQ, let them know what we are going to do. I’m going to talk some more with Reshtina, try to get some numbers, then plan it and get things together. Let them know right now that I’m gonna want at least an Apache, and definitely some fast movers on stand by, and that I will be talking to them in about an hour.”

“Roger, boss.” Hammond pushed away from the truck.

“Don’t forget the honey, Hamtaro!” Hunter shouted after him. Hammond flipped him off.

“Hunter.”

“Yeah?” He turned to Watson.

“Make sure you are ready to do some long range shoulder tapping.”

“Oh, brilliant.” Hunter grinned. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Didn’t think you would be.” Watson stood up and made his way back to a trembling Reshtina. He knelt down to one knee, the Kevlar knee pad making a small clicking noise on the treated wood bed of the lorry. “Hey. Reshtina. Don’t worry. You are fine, and so is Abasin, and so are the kids. You are all safe. I want to help you, and I think I can get you some more goats.”

She blinked up at him. “Are you certain, Mr. John?”

“Yes. I could get you and your village a whole herd.” He smirked at her. “But I need you to do something for me, yeah? I need you to work with me, here. That sound good?”

She nodded. “What do you need, Mr. John?”

His smirk turned deadly bright. “I need to know everything you can tell me about this village you are traveling to. Everything.”

********  
  
  
  
  


“Alpha One, I have target sighted. He’s coming in hot. Over.”

“Roger, Bravo Three. Keep an eye on him. Over.” Watson peered through the scope of his SA80, keeping the sights on Abasin’s lorry/taxi. The Afghani man stayed in the cab, fiddling with a throwaway phone. Reshtina sat in the bed, as she was before, but this time she had no children with her. The children had gotten a free ride on a Puma, back to their village. John recalled the sheer joy on their faces when he’d told them that they were going to be able to fly back home, and smiled. His cheek tightened against the stock of his rifle. “Bravo One, this is Alpha One. What’s your twenty, over.”

“Bravo One and Bravo Two are in position. Over.” McCarter and his second, Pratt, were going to be the ones closest to the action. Their job was to get Reshtina and Abasin out of the line of fire. Everyone else had their targets, as soon as everyone set up.

“Confirmed. Hang tight and wait for my go. Over.”

“Roger. Over and out.”

Watson relaxed the muscles in his back slowly, letting the tension leak from each spot slowly as he settled into his position high in the scrag. The village itself wasn’t much of one. He was almost certain that it wasn’t a village at all, but a drop off point for insurgents. He grinned. This was going to be grand.

The target was three large lorries and a smaller Jeepney left over from the Russian occupation, and they pulled in after about twenty minutes. A crackle over his headset perked Watson’s attention.

“Alpha One, Alpha One, this is your five minute warning. Harriers coming on your three o’clock in five minutes. How copy, over?”

“Oh brilliant. That is a copy, Harriers, three o’clock, five minutes, do NOT blow my arse off this scrag. Over and out.” He hissed in lieu of a laugh that would knock his scope off target. “Again.”

Over the com, Hammond snickered. “Come off it, boss, that was one time.”

“Three times. Radio silence, they are coming up. Wait for my signal.”

The whole area was silent save for the rumbling diesel engines of the lorries on the ground. True to what the woman had told him, twenty heavily armed Afghani men stepped off the trucks and surrounded the much smaller lorry Abasin drove. Reshtina stood slowly, revealing -

“Boss, that’s a lot more than five kilos of opium.” Hammond hissed.

Watson’s grin was wild. “Oh, fuck me, that’s a fucking thing. That is a fucking thing. Reshtina, you fox, you.” He squinted and counted through the scope. “I think we owe her a herd, and a visit to her village. Alpha Five, are you ready to rock?”

Hunter’s deep Scottish brogue came over the line. “Alpha Five is ready to rock, I have target. Bravo Four?”

O’Reilly responded after a heartbeat. “Bravo Four has target. Ready to fire on your command.”

Watson’s eyes swept the scene in front of them. The men were off-loading the raw material now. Everything was almost ready. In the corner of a building, very close to the small lorry, he could see Mac and Pratt, ready to move. The snipers were on target, ready to blow the engine blocks of the trucks. And everyone else was ready.

“Alpha One, Alpha One, this is your two minute warning - “

“Ten four.” He peered at Reshtina as she moved, by inches, towards the front of the lorry, closer to safety. Abasin was getting ready, too -

A vibration at his chest gave his heart a jolt, and adrenaline poured into his system. That was the signal from Abasin. Ready to rock and roll.

“Get ready, boys. We are moving in five. Four.”

He tensed, all of his body getting ready to move.

“Three.”

Reshtina flashed a thumb up to McCarter.

“Two.”

As one, the diesel engines of the lorries clanked and shuddered to a halt, then blew as two high velocity incendiary rounds each tore into them.

“Execute!” Watson pulled the trigger on his rifle, taking his two targets out with well-placed bullets to the head. They both disappeared from his scope in a spray of red mist. The first seconds after the ambush began was startling; no one on the ground knew what to do. Before they could get their weapons up and firing, the insurgents went down under the assault. The survivors started bellowing to their comrades while scrambling for cover. In the chaos, McCarter and Pratt moved out of the shelter of the house, pulled Reshtina and Abasin to them, and ran for cover in the scrags as fast as they could move.”

“Bravo One and Two, haul arse, the jets are coming! Move it now!” Watson howled over the com as he heard the high pitched whine of the engines streaking in above them. “Fifteen seconds!”

“We’re good! We’re golden, boss, fuckin’ HIT THEM!”

The jets banked in hard, and unleashed holy hell, the Maverick missiles slamming home in the lorries and turning them into scrap metal with deafening cracks.

“Fall back! Fall back to the scrag, boys!” Watson held his position a bit longer to help Hunter and O’Reilly pick off the remaining men on the ground, his rifle banging away against his shoulder. He took a chance and stood, bracing himself on a rock as he searched for targets.

“Alpha One, this is Rockhopper. Do you need another sweep? Over.”

Watson scanned the area. “Take out the buildings over on your right, close to the field. I’m certain this place is a cover for insurgent operations, and they are empty, over.”

“Roger, One. Rockhopper out.”

Watson nodded, even though the Harrier driver couldn’t see him. He couldn’t see anybody left alive in the kill zone, only dead bodies and destroyed trucks. Even more telling: as he swept his scope over the lesser damaged of the lorries, he couldn’t see any animal bodies.

“They didn’t have goats,” He grunted.

“Nope.” Hammond’s voice rang over his shoulder. “I saw that, too. Looks like they were just going to kill them.”

Watson pressed his lips together in consternation and sudden anger. “Motherfuckers.” He growled deep in his chest, but let the moment pass. It didn’t matter anymore, because they were dead, and his men were alive.

“Sound off! Do I have everyone?”

He breathed a sigh of relief when all of his men called back, no injuries, the attack went off without a hitch! Perfect! He looked to Hammond, and nodded.

“Let’s pack ‘em up. Call for the pick up.”

“Yes sir!” Hammond threw him a salute and ran along the rocks to get to the radio. John smiled.

“This is a perfect day.”

********  
  
  
  
  


Two days later, Alpha team took a trip to a village twenty kilometers out of Kabul with twelve pallets of water, five pallets of coffee, two crates of medical supplies and medication, and two crates of Meal, Ready to Eat boxes. The village head gratefully traded Watson ten head of goats, a cow, and some spices, along with some information about insurgent activity in the area and three packs of cigarettes. Abasin finally caught up with them in his brand new (used within an inch of its life) lorry taxi and loaded the livestock into the back as Watson tossed a pack of cigarettes at him.

“What is this for, Sergeant Watson, sir?” The man stared at the packet.

“You helped us. We help you. You can pass those out to your people. I know you have them. Tell them that there’s more where that came from if they can get us some dirt on the opposition. No questions asked.”

Abasin smiled. “I will do that.”

“Good. Now, let’s get these things to Reshtina before they all die of dehydration.” Watson slapped the side of the lorry. “Allons-y!”

********  
  
  
  
  


The village was just a small gathering of huts another ten kilometers outside Kabul, surrounded by poppy fields. Watson and Hammond winced as they took in the blood red flowers. “Bloody hell.” Hammond muttered under his breath. “Is there something we could do about this?”

“Sort of firebombing this whole thing? Not really, unless the village head likes us.” Watson bent his head down and swatted at a billy that was trying to eat his vest. “No, you don’t do that, that is not food, you little shit machine.”

The children (a lot more, Watson noticed, than before, which was great) ran up alongside the truck, shouting and hooting and making such a racket. Hunter smiled. “God, what a mess! These kids are going nuts, sir.”

“And by rights they should be, Hunter.” Watson leaned forward and rapped the top of the cab with the side of his fist. “Alright, Abasin! Let us off here, that’s a good mate, then!”

The lorry ground to a halt, and Watson spotted Reshtina stumble out of her hut and stop, frozen to the spot at the sight before her. Her hands flew to her face, and as Watson swung down from the rear gate and pulled down the slats that would let the livestock walk down onto the ground, she ran up to him and threw her arms around him. His brain sparked for a moment, his instincts that this was just a overwhelmed woman’s hug fighting with his training screaming ‘suicide bomber!’, but he turned in her grip and hugged her back.

“See, love, I told you we could get you more that three goats. I even got you a cow and some spice!”

She stood, hugging him and sobbing into his shoulder. The children orbited Hunter and Hammond, begging in Pashto for candy and chocolate and piggy back rides. The other villagers slowly came into view, milling around the lorry and the animals. Baker hung back, near the truck, helping Knowles and Abasin bring the animals down, along with one crate of medical supplies and three pallets of bottled water. Harper counted heads, her own head covered in a dark head wrap, and ushered people who were obviously sick to a shade tree and a table so she could start doing her job.

Finally, Reshtina let go of Watson and smiled sweetly at him, her eyes shining in happiness and hope. “Thank you. Thank you so much!” He grinned back at her, and patted her shoulder lightly. Soon, everything was offloaded, doled out equally, and Abasin bid a long farewell as he traveled on to the next village. The rest of the afternoon was spent in a relaxed way, Hammond and Watson explaining how they could help the villagers as long as they cut the opium production off as Harper worked her medical magic and the others kept the children busy with an impromptu game of footie. The far off thump-thump-thump of rotors cut their visit short, and Watson’s team bid their own goodbyes as they readied themselves to leave.

The village elder walked up to Watson, and held out his hand. “You are a good man. One day, you will have a new life, and a family to take care of. You will understand our life.”

Watson nodded. “Perhaps. But right now, this is my family, and I intend to keep them safe and take care of them.” He shook hands with the old man. “Keep in mind what I said, Mirwais.”

“I shall.”

“Good. We’ll be back.” Watson smirked and turned as the Puma landed out in the open area just outside of the village line. “Have a good day!”

The children followed them out to the helicopter, and Hunter shooed them back before looking at Watson. “You riding out?”

“Do I ever not?”

“Ha ha! Very well then!” The big Scot clapped a huge hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. “I’ll take the other side, then.”

The Puma lifted off with nobody shooting at them, and Watson leaned back against the open door of the helicopter, his left leg hanging out in mid air and his right bent up. The beautiful Afghan country raced past beneath him, and he smiled lazily. He hummed “Dirty Ol’ Town” into the com mike, and the whole team joined in, happy and at peace with the world once more.

********  
  
  
  
  


John leaned back in his seat and smiled at the people surrounding him. “Just another day in Afghanistan, there. That was a good day; a shit patrol, a chance meeting, and a really good operation, and an even better ending.” He smirked at everyone.

“So. Was the village elder right?” Sarah curled up against Porter, who was asleep in the middle seat. Martha, Sally, and Tim were outside the Rover, stretching their legs. Greg sat between the front seats, supporting Molly on his lap. John looked around and blinked.

“Yeah. I think he was right. I did get a new life, and a family to boot.” He patted Sherlock’s hip, and the younger man snuffled in his sleep.

“Oh, yeah?” Greg smiled. “Are we it?”

John rubbed Gladstone’s ears, and nodded. “Yes. All of you. You are my family, now. And I’m going to take care of you.”

****  
  
  



End file.
